Beyond Reasonable Doubt
by Nasu Hasami
Summary: Inspector Li's life is difficult enough with three officers that won't listen, a mother that won't leave him alone, and a parolee he can't find. The last thing he wanted is a rogue partner with a vendetta against ex-boyfriends, an illogical hatred for pop ballads and the emotional capacity of a dead fish. Then again, she might be just what he needs. Modern Retelling. Adult Themes.
1. Just Another Day

**Beyond Reasonable Doubt**

(The Missing Themes)

**By Nasu Hasami and Chang Lieng Bui**

* * *

_For Flitterbugzz(zz…zzz?), _

_As she was irrationally pissed off with HLB's Mulan, _

_thus inspiring this creation._

_This time Fa Mulan's back, s__napping gum, knifing people, shooting ex-boyfriends __and she's just for you. __Enjoy!_

_(Any resemblance to anything outside of my imagination is purely coincidental, accidental or well researched. What? I like to read.)_

* * *

**Chapter One (22: Online): Just Another Day**

**10:17 Hours**

**22 September 2012**

**Somewhere on the streets of Kowloon City, Hong Kong**

'What are you shooting at?' Inspector Li screeched, ducking down and pulling his associate with him. She twisted out of his grip and aimed her Glock again, scowling and mumbling. Inspector Fa was red in the face, her knuckles white from the grip on the pistol.

'What the hell is wrong with you?' Her partner shrieked, lunging for her again.

'Bastard broke my heart!' She ground out, lining up her target.

Li Shang moved quickly, forcing the rogue officer to the ground. He struggled to get the gun out of her hands, disarming it once he had and tucking it into his waistband. He was careful not to scuff his shoes in the melee, slightly more concerned about injuring his new, shiny black Florsheim Diplomats than injuring Mulan.

'We don't shoot civilians!'

'He's not a civilian. He's a worthless piece of shit that deserves to die.' Mulan reached around him, struggling with his designer belt and even more designer shirt. Her fingers crested the leather strapping of his shoulder holster and the metal of his revolver. Swift as the wind she had it pressed against his chest, locked and loaded.

'Get off me, Fashion Boy!'

Inspector Li swung back on his feet, righting himself and brushing down his suit. Mulan was slower to right herself, muttering and moaning as she stood at length. She retied a bootlace and put some escaped loose change back in her pockets. Shang still looked immaculate. She had a new hole in her Levis and a new graze on her jacket. He silently requested the return of his firearm; she loudly protested, pivoting where she stood and shooting out the tires of a nearby parked Lexus.

'The _Piece of Shit's_ car?' Inspector Li asked. Hand still hopefully proffered.

'Yep.' She shot out the headlights. The pistol clicked over empty. She handed the Smith and Wesson back.

He flashed his ID to a passer-by. Mulan just grinned, hands-on-hips. The sound of the alarm system pitching didn't bother her at all.

'You know, there are better ways of dealing with a break-up.'

'Like listening to Leehom Wang whilst crying over old photos and getting drunk on cheap wine? _Yi ran ai ni!_' she wailed, arms outstretched. 'I don't think so. I'm not you, _Mr Shang_.'

'How about acting like a responsible adult about the situation! Not shooting up your former boyfriend's car!'

'As far as I'm aware, children can't use firearms, legally.'

Shang surveyed the damage and the childish woman. How she managed to find the men she did he would never know. Honestly, what was the appeal? Fa Mulan was gangly, boyish and vulgar, that, and so Americanised she was practically a Westerner. He didn't want to call it Racism – though he knew it probably was – he just couldn't personally date a woman that ate hamburgers, watched English sitcoms and painted cuss words onto her fingernails.

'So, why are we here again?' She asked, bouncing up and down in her boots. Adrenalin was starting to kick in. Maybe she had just needed to shoot something.

'Ling and Yao found something.'

'So they're not just pretty wallflowers?'

'I'm sure they'll appreciate that you think they're pretty.'

That was another thing about Mulan. She had to say something about everything, always. Her ghost would no doubt still be arguing and having the last word after she died. It wouldn't matter if she was the only one there or not, she'd still be nattering away.

'I tell Yao he's pretty every day.' She was actually skipping up the steps now. 'I say, Yao, you're the loveliest thing I've ever seen.'

'I know you do.' They'd had this conversation before, one too many times. Besides that, he'd witnessed the incident more times than he'd care to remember: walking into the office and seeing her sitting on Yao's desk, gazing at him thoughtfully, then grinning and telling him he was beautiful.

'Do you think that's why he gives me the finger every morning?'

'Possibly, Mulan. Very possibly.'

'I don't tell you, because, well, you're about as statuesque as it gets, and your ego shares the Sun's atmosphere. So it really is fascinating that you could squeeze _that_ ego into _those_ tight leather pants you were wearing the other night. You know, when you suffered an Epic Fail! at that stakeout. I've never seen someone's cover blown so quickly.'

'I didn't fail that badly, and my _ego_ fitted just fine, thank you.'

'Bit of a Mick Jagger look you had happening there.'

Shang didn't know what she meant by that, and he didn't particularly care. He handed Mulan's weapon back to her once inside the building, drawing his own Glock. She twisted her cap down a little further and snapped the gum on her lips, shifting on her feet a little.

The plaster on the building's walls was decaying and mouldy. Bullet holes littered the corridor. There were some questionable splatter marks and a lot of broken furniture. Rats, both alive and dead, and plenty of leaky pipes. Stagnant water and black mould blended in the air, making it dense and pungent.

'Left?' Mulan whispered, all the playfulness gone from her voice. It was low and serious, as if she were an entirely different woman to the twenty-something year old that skipped up the steps. Her throat pulsed as if she were gagging.

Shang shook his head. She followed his lead. He signalled her, they listened.

'It's Wu dialect.' Mulan whispered. Shang nodded.

There were some advantages to having a pain-in-the-ass partner with a Degree in Linguistics.

'Shipment didn't arrive. It'll be at the docks tonight.'

'Can you hear Yao?'

'No. Three voices: two tenors, one soprano. No countertenor.'

There was more whispering. Disjointed and fluctuating in tone.

'Yao's accent is shit. It'll blow his cover.'

'He was the most natural sounding, you agreed on that. His nervousness will work to an advantage.'

She hushed Shang, flicking her eyes towards the shadows moving underneath the door. His eyes followed the dark pattern. They both moved into an offensive position.

A shot was fired through the wall, blasting a hole where Mulan had been before she'd dropped and rolled. Shang kicked the door in and cocked his gun. Mulan fired a low shot from her position on the floor between his legs. She hit one of the men in the shin. Shang pulled his other Glock, each weapon pointed at a different man. Mulan's gun was still aimed at the suited figure she'd shot in the leg. She didn't have the chance to correct her position.

'Fucking mole!' The injured man screeched, hobbling and scratching around for the gun he'd dropped in the commotion.

The fat man sitting on a couch in an ill-fitting suit just smiled. He seemed quite intent to keep eating dumplings, enjoying the standoff before him.

'Which Dock and what's the shipment of?' Shang demanded.

The men only looked between each other. Mulan repeated the question, in Wu. It was flawless, and if Shang was honest, a little bit sexy. Maybe not sexy enough to make up for the chewing gum and the baseball caps, though.

'It's not worth your lives.'

The vulnerability of her position on the floor was starting to wear on her. She'd only dropped and rolled to miss the shot intended for her. She hadn't intended to be forced to stay sprawled out on the floor between Shang's legs, with an eyeful of his Gucci covered crotch, for the confrontation. She shot the wounded man's other shin. He collapsed with a thud. She raised herself slowly, angling herself next to Shang.

'What's the shipment of?' She yelled.

'Answer her! _Now!_' Shang screeched.

She really didn't need to fully incapacitate the injured man; she was the one that threw herself at the floor, she knew the consequences of that move before she committed it.

'Thais!'

'What do you mean _Thais_?' Shang's anger was building.

Li Shang didn't fare well in situations where things were out of his control. He liked to know what was happening, when it was happening, how long it was going on for, and who was in charge. He hated dealing with foreigners because the language barrier broke his carefully constructed world. Mulan's job was to reconstruct that world, not further the confusion. He sometimes thought she enjoyed agitating his bewilderment.

'Probably prostitutes from Thailand.' She whispered, back to Cantonese.

'Who's your leader?'

'That's a bit blunt isn't it?' Mulan asked, a hint of a smirk on her face, her gun was slowly being lowered. Li Shang was a very blunt man: blunt, bland, straight-laced and boring as the day was long. But he was gorgeous, and he knew it.

'Yu.'

'_YU?_'

'Yu Shān.'

'The fuckwit that burnt down Whampoa?' Mulan's expression had changed.

'Yesh, Yu Shān.' The tall quivering man paused, looking at his partner. They were both pale and malnourished. 'We warnt protection. Yu will kill us.'

'They won't talk,' Mulan said.

'I know,' Shang sighed.

'We'll tawlk.'

'You'll run.' Mulan barked. 'You all do the same thing. It doesn't matter because Yu will find you. He always finds what he's looking for. And I don't think he's overly fond of traitors.'

'This building is bugged.' Yao added, mouth full. 'Ling said there was mics in the ceiling.'

'So either way,' Mulan grinned, 'you're fucked.'

* * *

Mulan kicked her boots off in the hallway. Her leather jacket followed, falling on top of the discarded footwear. She unbuckled her belt and threw it in the rubbish bin. The baseball cap and blood stained t-shirt followed. She switched her television on and flicked over the channels, shaking glass out of her hair as she stood over the bin. News coverage from the shooting was on nearly every station. She'd had a lucky guess with the Lexus being the getaway car, and the 'ex-boyfriend' being the driver, sneaking off for a cigarette. Shang still thought she was insane though.

Insanely lucky at best.

The day had been too long to deal with his precocious nature. She really couldn't care less for what he thought of her as a person, or her means of attaining subjects. What she did worked. No, it wasn't orthodox, it wasn't conventional, and sometimes, it wasn't legal, but it got the job done. He could go fuck himself for all she cared. She wasn't employed to pander to his delicacies or his bureaucratic bullshit.

She turned the TV off, grabbed a pair of sweat pants and a crop top from her bedroom and padded towards the bathroom. Her hair had blood and grime in it and she smelt like shit. She needed a shower, badly. She could just stand there until the water ran cold, stare at the ceiling and tell herself her leg didn't hurt as badly as it did, and that her day hadn't really been that bad, after all, she was still alive, and she'd only been shot at twice.

And Shang hadn't really been that upset about the raid. He was just having a bad day.

* * *

'You look tired,' Liè Yīng smiled sweetly, sliding around her fiancé. Shang sighed as her fingers danced across his temples, lying back and leaning in to the touch. Her lips grazed his cheek. 'I missed you today.' He just sighed and nodded, allowed her to kiss her way around his jaw.

'You're thinking about her,' Yīng whispered, lightly kissing Shang's mouth. His eyes snapped open; she kissed him quickly, looking at him. 'You get this look on your face when you're thinking about her. It's nearly annoyance. It's cute.'

'She shot the tires out on a car today. Told me it was an ex-boyfriend's car, which I trusted, of course, thinking this is Mulan – she's just insane!'

'It wasn't an ex?' Yīng looked so demure, tucking her skinny legs underneath herself and propping her hand underneath her chin.

'It was the escape vehicle. Which she tells me, she knew, because of general observation; no one in that area of Kowloon could possibly afford a Lexus. If she shot up the wrong car, only she was to blame.'

'Was it the wrong car?'

'No.'

'So there's no problem then.'

Her lips nibbled on his neck. He couldn't clear his head though. All he could see was Mulan jumping out a third floor window, like the lunatic she was, and tackling the man that had run from them. Her timing had been perfect and her aim uncannily accurate. The runner broke her fall and she broke his neck.

'Did she do anything else to annoy you?' the warm lips teased his skin. She was unbuttoning his shirt, kissing his skin inch by inch.

'She had _fuck your ancestors to the eighteenth generation_ painted across her nails today.'

Yīng's teeth snuck through her smile.

'It's not funny.'

'Shang, it is. She drums her nails on things too. Imagine making her a coffee and looking down to see that staring up at you.'

'Imagine, yes. It's hilarious every time you look down and see _Fuck your Grandmother_, or _You're a Cuckhold_, or _May your child be born with haemorrhoids_! Absolutely hilarious!'

'She's just lonely. She doesn't have a big strong man, like you, to go home to. There's no one to treat her like a woman, and I don't think she's the type to be overly excessive on herself. She just needs reminding she's a woman.'

Shang rubbed Yīng's back, his hand drawing lazy circles. 'I will eternally admire the man that can achieve that, if there is a man alive that can achieve that.'

'Don't be cruel, Shang. Mulan is so strong, I admire that about her. Even your mother admires Mulan's determination and drive.'

'That's because my mother is a Lǎohǔ Mǔqīn. Success in your family can only be measured by the success of your children. Plainly, my mother thinks Mulan would have made a wonderful son. I'm not so sure that's a compliment, Yīng, to either me or the woman in question.'

'I still admire her, you know. She lives by her own rules. I like that.'

'Living by her own rules has cost her a lot.'

'So does living by the World's rules.'

Shang didn't really want to debate his partner's life choices with his fiancé. The fact that there was this feminine sorority thing going on between them was bad enough, particularly given that neither of them actually liked the other, in person, and that both were open about this hatred to him, in private. He was careful to pull the conversation away from the Levi-wearing-gun-toting madcap he worked with, asking about dinner and wedding plans, if any had been made that day.

Liè Yīng was easily diverted, brightening up and chatting happily about the flowers she'd been looking at, knotting her fingers with his and nestling into him. Shang was still thinking about Mulan a little, though, like the nagging thought she always was, poking and teasing him in the back of his mind, a bit like the devil on his shoulder.

'Flowers, yeah, that bouquet shit and stuff. I'd go with Calla Lilies, because your mother's allergic to them.' He could hear her laughing voice in his head. The truth was, after the thought, Shang sort of wanted to suggest Lilies as Yīng's choice for her bouquet.

It seemed, despite his best efforts, the devil was always going to have power over him. Maybe he'd just worked with that devil for too long.

Dinner had been simple affair without ceremony. Yīng had floated in and out of the room fussing about him and they ate on the lounge, not the dining table. She hadn't made anything complex, just noodles, but it was all he wanted. They hadn't talked much as they ate and didn't talk much afterwards, just curled up together, lost in their thoughts and lost in the day that had been.

When he kissed her it was because he was sorry. He had wanted to, as well, but mostly because it felt strange to have her head on his ribcage. Stranger still when it struck him how slight and delicate she was; it shouldn't have been strange. She was going to be his wife. It should have been normal or wanted or something…not striking him as peculiar or wrong.

When Shang deepened the kiss it was mostly because it gave him something to think about: the feel of her body, the taste of her lips; the sound of her heartbeat. There was also a small part of him that was kissing her, because if he didn't, he'd start regretting the decisions he'd made about which woman it was underneath him, and why it was her that was there.

Liè Yīng was perfect. She was willowy and quiet and traditionally beautiful, all pale and pearlescent. She could cook and clean and she knew exactly how to satiate him. But she always seemed a little too convenient too; too quiet and too skinny and too organised. He was also a little ashamed that they were only engaged because he couldn't leave her. He'd never been the one to end a relationship, and he didn't know how. He thought she'd say no when he proposed; they'd only been living together for a month, but that's not how it played out. Yīng said yes, he told his parents he was getting married, and he'd have a wife by the end of the year. Losing himself in her kisses and her mouth was just another way to wake up feeling more guilt and less inclined to run from it.

* * *

Mulan was still in the shower when the water had turned cold. Standing there, staring at the shower head, trying to work out if the water looked more silver or white. The rivulets running over her skin were still tainted pink, but it was clearing slowly. The soap was stained umber from all the dried blood. She'd found a few shards of glass in her shoulder, but she seemed to be otherwise okay. Her knee was badly bruised and she'd probably have to brace it for a few days for extra support. Cut back on the yoga and the cardio until the pain subsided.

After the water puddling around her had finally cleared. She towelled herself down roughly and threw on her sweat pants and crop top, carefully fixing the strap around the nicks in her shoulder. She grabbed the hairdryer and stared at her fogged up reflection, swiping at the glass as she messed her hair and enjoyed the heat on her neck and face.

Mulan wasn't proud of the face that stared back at her. Eyebrows that needed plucking, big dark circles around her eyes, short messy hair, lips she was often taunted about getting through surgery. As if she'd care about her appearance to waste money on plastic surgery or Botox. As if anyone cared what she thought. This was what she was, a Chinese woman that was too tall for convention and too bombastic for custom and tradition.

The eyebrows could be fixed, though, and that was a start at least. The rest could come later.

Half an hour later she was settled on her old lounge, eyebrows fixed, her knee strapped and supported by a cushion. Her laptop was on another pillow and her father's face was glowing at her from her TV.

'Sorry,' he said, half falling out of frame.

'It's alright Pops.' He would somehow always manage to knock something over when they began a Skype chat. Or disconnect. Or spill his tea. Or forget to turn his hearing aid on.

'How's work?'

Mulan popped her lips. 'If I lie, you'll tell me you saw the news.'

'I saw the news. Are you alright?'

'Bit sore, otherwise, fine.'

'Nothing you can't handle?'

'I'm not in hospital.' She paused, grinning, 'How's mother?' If Fa Zhou was going to have a jibe, so was she.

'You would know that better than I.'

'You could call her, you know.'

'I don't think so.'

'Well, I'm not calling her. She's still pissed with me for breaking up with Deming, like, five years ago.'

'She'll see the news, you should call her.'

'No. She can ring me if she's that concerned.'

'You know, Mulan, sometimes I think you don't believe that your mother loves you.'

'She doesn't.' It was said without bitterness. It was said with a shrug, and a blank face. 'I'm not like Liqin. I didn't finish University and find a nice Chinese boyfriend and marry him and have his nice, well-behaved uber-Chinese children. She didn't even really like Deming, because he was actually American. He was just the best of all the assholes I've been with.'

'You don't have to be exactly like your sister for your mother to love you.'

'I think you'll find I do. I'm just a big failure until I'm settled down as a homemaker popping out babies like there's no tomorrow.'

'And Li did have a point about the men in your life, Mulan. I don't know where you find these boys. Money isn't everything. A nice car or a nice house doesn't make the owner a nice person.'

'I like men with personality. Not some blunt, bland, boring ghost of a person. It's not the money I'm chasing.'

'You've only ever been hurt by those men.'

'Not as badly as I've hurt them.' She was beaming, laughing a little. It was both poignant and appalling.

'I don't want to know what you mean by that.'

The conversation picked up some from there. They talked about home, and when she would next be coming to visit. They talked about Liqin's children and visiting them at Christmas. They laughed about Granny Fa's comments about that handsome officer Mulan works with, the ambidextrous one with the nice shoes that was on the news. Fa Zhou warned his daughter about getting involved with colleagues. Mulan guaranteed him that Hell would need to freeze over before she even thought about Li Shang romantically.

Sure, his body was not always unpleasant to look at in those rare moments that he was partially undressed, and she'd seen moments of sweetness in him, but he lacked the authoritarian qualities she craved. On top of that, he was engaged, and there was no way she was ever going to be the other woman. She'd seen what that had done to her parents. She'd seen what Qian Po had gone through when his wife walked out on him. She might have been a bitch, but she wasn't conniving, and she certainly wasn't a home-wrecker.

'I'll call you tomorrow, Pops.'

'Talk to you then, sweetheart.'

The TV screen flickered off and Mulan heaved her leg off the lounge, stumbling onto the floor. She dragged it a little, muttering profanities as she pulled herself into the kitchen.

The fridge was a sorry state of affairs: a half-eaten pizza, a stale container of Chilli Chicken and a dozen bottles of beer. The beer was probably the safest option, but she'd eaten half a packet of painkillers to numb the stabbing sensations in her knee. She'd be floating in Nirvana for days if she started on the beer now. There was also a small part that wanted to start on the beer, so she shut the fridge door and walked away from the temptation. She didn't need to be shitfaced and feeling sorry for herself. The last time that happened she woke up in the bathtub, crying, listening to Danny Chan.

Groceries were what she needed. Groceries and probably a stop at a pharmacy, the next few days were going to be agony. And maybe the ride and the fresh, night air would do her some good, too.


	2. Friends First, Partners Second

**Beyond Reasonable Doubt**

(The Missing Themes)

**By Nasu Hasami and Chang Lieng Bui**

**Chapter Two (42: Start): Friends First, Partners Second**

* * *

**22:19 Hours**

**22 September 2012**

**Jusco, Kowloon, Hong Kong**

In ten minutes Mulan had been accosted by three attendants about swinging on trolleys, told chewing gum was prohibited inside the store (by a five year old) and asked by the Five Year Old's brother if her gun was real.

She asked him if she should shoot his sister so they could both find out together.

Mulan was asked to leave by the manager, or the police would be called. There was a terrified child in tears, a terrified set of parents in tears, and an eight year old determined to join the police force.

She ended up at a McDonald's franchise, eating a bun that tasted like refined sugar, and finding someone to race pickles with down a window. She could lapse into her New Yorker accent and talk about how she missed '_home_'.

There was a bit of bonding over pickle-tossing and a shared large fries, but no numbers were exchanged. The wedding band became evident after her racing buddy tugged off his patent leather gloves and tried to hold her hand. If she'd had lesser morals, or a swig of something stronger than Diet Coke, she may have followed him home, despite what she thought and despite her better judgement. The stranger's accent had been so decadent and clipped. He'd forgotten Cantonese, if he'd ever known it, and he was only there on a business trip. He was beautiful in that tall, sunken cheekbone sort-of-way, with deep set eyes and a laughing mouth. There was nothing hidden or mysterious about him. The stranger was what he was.

In the weird world of overtiredness and hyperawareness and perpetual loneliness, it had seemed, that a passionate tryst with a stranger, wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing.

But then he pulled out the Samsung Galaxy, and flicked over the photos of his wife and the children. It seemed like such a strange gap, to jump from '_this is my number_' to '_this is my wife_'.

Yet, with Mulan's luck, it was almost too common to call strange. She just had a sixth sense for married men. _He's nice_, her brain would think. Then she'd notice the wedding ring. The positive to that was something she didn't want to think about. Being attracted to commitment, or finding it sexy, wasn't exactly an orthodox trait to throw yourself at. It just meant you would destroy someone else's relationship and jeopardise the very thing you were attracted to. She refused to be that woman.

The mystery American-Chinese left and she grabbed her helmet shortly afterwards. Riding would clear her head. It always did.

In the nine years she'd worked with Shang in the Organised Crime sector she'd covered the roads of Hong Kong, Kowloon and the New Territories countless times. Sometimes on the BMW she used for work, other times on her Ducati, or occasionally, on something pulled from within the Department for an operation. She was confident on a bike, sometimes cocky, and sometimes the cockiness got her into trouble, but mostly she was a safe rider. She knew the streets. She knew where to stop for gas and when. She knew the land and the landmarks. And she knew it would calm her down.

* * *

Mulan swung the door open ferociously, armed and aiming for the head of whoever had been banging on it and calling out her name. It was too early for this shit. And she was in pain. Friend or foe, they were going down. Mornings were not her most ideal part of the day – she was the living dead until 1400 hours and at least five coffees were in her system. Maybe six, it depended whether or not they were double shots.

Her vision blurred then cleared a little, the silhouette was familiar. Tall, tanned, sweaty and looking hideously attractive in a pair of lime green Adidas shorts and his white Chinese University t-shirt. Li Shang looked her up and down before confusion furrowed his brow.

'Oh, it's just you.' Mulan lowered the gun, plodding back down the hallway, stifling a yawn.

'You're not dressed.' Shang said, a little crestfallen. He needed this run, after yesterday and last night and the confusion of everything in between.

She gave him the finger, snapped the elastic of her lace panties and slapped her rear.

'Bite me Shang!'

His eyes fell to the sway of her hips. He smirked a little at the scars and the dragon tattoo. The red matched the red of her underwear, vermillion maybe. It was too orange for scarlet or crimson. The bra was fluorescent purple and brought out the dragon's horns. Shang wanted to tell her the colours clashed. Heliotrope and vermillion were not a good combination, but he held his tongue; he wasn't here to agitate her. Not while her Glock was in her hands and she was half asleep.

'I thought you'd like a run after yesterday.'

'Were you there yesterday?' Mulan moaned, hopping a little, 'I fell out a third floor window!'

'You didn't fall. You jumped.'

'Yeah, well, I landed on Kevlar. That shit's nasty!' She stopped hobbling and fell against the hallway wall, leaning heavily into it and playing with her gun. It was slightly disturbing how she checked the barrel of her guns, while they were loaded. The way she caressed them was a little more disturbing, though, fingering them and such. He was sure one day she was going to put a bullet in her head by accident.

'Kevlar's bulletproof, Mulan. What do you expect?'

'Look at my knee!' She pointed to the swollen black section of her leg. 'I can't run. I'm a cripple!'

Shang observed her a moment, more for the sake of pacifying her than because of concern about her overzealous exaggeration. She probably couldn't run. Her leg was distended and black from the shin to her thigh.

He stepped inside the apartment and closed the door.

'That was a polite _Fuck off_ Shang!'

'Well this is a polite, _I'm slightly anxious about one of my officers_, Mulan.'

'I'll be fine. I'll tape and it ice it and no one will know. By-the-by, I'm not one of your officers, Fashion Boy. You don't outrank me yet.'

'You okay otherwise? Technicalities of your _fall_ aside, it was three stories.'

'Yeah, good for me, s'pose. Hobbled home – because I'm now a cripple – showered, spoke to Dad, nearly shot a kid, nearly fucked a married guy, went for a ride, woke up to you pounding on my door, told you to get fucked.'

'You nearly fucked a married guy?'

Mulan met Shang's critical gaze with a smirk. 'Interesting that that's what your brain chose to single out of that conversation.'

'I just thought you were beyond that phase.'

'Phase?'

'Yes, Mulan. The phase after your fiancé/boyfriend/whatever left you for that College student.'

'His name was Yin, Shang, and I don't know what he was. He slept here. He wanted a drawer – a drawer – I don't do drawers! And she was nineteen. _Nineteen_! Legs up to here!' She was waving her arm around her neck. It seemed a little preposterous that any man could leave Mulan for a woman with longer legs. As it was, Mulan was six foot one, easily with her own _legs-up-to-here_.

'Still, Yin left you, he's not coming back.'

'Do I look like I want him to?'

'Sort of, yes, you do!' She looked a little stressed and he knew she was lonely. Or he assumed she was, in truth, Shang wasn't sure if Mulan understood what loneliness was.

'Well, I don't need that two-timing-douche in my life, I just miss the sex.'

'_Mulan!_'

'What? Sorry, I forgot orgasms made you blush.'

Shang had wandered into her kitchen, escaping her presence before she started describing aforementioned orgasms or sexual partners just to make him more uncomfortable. If she'd done it before, she'd do it again. And she had, to make him flush and fluster, because embarrassing him was amusing to her.

'Do you have anything to make a cup of tea with?'

'I have water, and a kettle.'

'You don't have any tea though, or cups for that matter.'

'Got kicked out of Jusco.'

'Honestly?'

'Yes. I was being a public nuisance.'

'Mulan, you are a public nuisance. And probably, a hazard to society; you can't just pull your gun on a kid. It's unethical.'

He opened the fridge and immediately wished he hadn't. She was more a man than most men he knew.

'Really? Mouldy pizza and Japanese beer?' He wasn't sure what the container of furry black goo was supposed to be, or what it had been. It was at a very scientific juncture within its life cycle, and looked like it maybe should have been swabbed and kept in a petri dish.

'I apologise, Fashion Boy. But unlike most of my gender, I wasn't born with an innate second sense for cooking, or cleaning, or washing, or those maternal instincts things. I think Liqin got all those, and I was born with all the leftovers, like stubbornness and unpredictability and maybe, a little testosterone.'

'You're not a man, or a hermaphrodite.' He looked at her underwear rather pointedly.

'No, but probably the closest thing to it; you even think of me as 'one of the boys' so don't you start on this womanly qualities bullshit. I'm hopeless okay, I know it, I accept it, and that's all that matters.'

'You will starve to death or poison yourself.'

'No, that beer's high in carbs. And it's not past its use-by date.'

'You forgot to add obnoxious to that list.' He noticed there was some sort of growth at the back of her fridge. It was almost so repulsive it was fascinating. A little like its owner really: vulgar, yet, peculiarly alluring.

'Fine, I'm stubborn, unpredictable, testosterone fuelled and obnoxious. Happy?'

'No.'

She sighed. 'You're impossible to please.'

'No, I'm not. Do you have a pen?'

Mulan looked at him queerly before shrugging in confusion and stalking out of the small kitchen. She reappeared a few minutes later with a permanent marker. 'Best I could do on short notice.' He bit off the sigh on his lips and rubbed his neck. Without doubt, she would be the death of him.

'And a notepad or a piece of paper?'

She waved her phone at him and stated, 'she didn't do longhand'. That sigh escaped without thought. He knelt on the floor and started scribbling on the old fridge door with the broad nibbed marker.

_Tea, __Coffee, __Milk, __Bread, __Butter, __Vegetable oil, __Peanut oil, __Wonga Buk, __Chillies, __Onions, __Garlic, __Ginger, __Shallots, __Soy Sauce, __Oyster Sauce, __Shao Hsing Wine, __Malt Vinegar, __White Sugar, __Sea Salt, __Pepper, __Rice, __Noodles, __Chicken, __Fish, __Tofu, __Eggs, __Cups, __Plates, __Bowls, __Cutlery, __Cast Iron Wok, __Steamer, __Cleaver, __Tea Towels_

'You don't have to read it out loud, Mulan.'

'Thank you, I wasn't.'

'Yes, you were.'

Mulan had propped herself up on the doorway, still looking as though she was about to fall asleep, staring at her now graffiti-_ed_ fridge door. The look was hard to discern. Maybe she was angry. Though, it seemed the quirk of her lips was closer to a smile than a growl. Her fridge already had a Mets logo drawn onto the freezer door; she'd told him it was a Baseball team when she went through an 'Educating Shang' phase. He'd watched a game with her once, in her first apartment in Kowloon. Her reaction to the sport was more interesting than the game itself, as she leapt about the room, screaming obscenities and throwing things at her TV. Mulan only really had two levels of emotion, like cancer, she was either malignant or benign.

'So now you've provided me with a shopping list, and effectively told me I'm an incapable fool, are you going away?'

'No.'

'Thought so.'

'Could you get dressed please? As nice as your body is, I prefer it covered in clothing.'

Secretly he thought it was probably the nicest female form he'd ever seen, and he didn't so much mind it naked. Shang had seen it all, not by choice or happenstance, simply because the woman it belonged to had zero boundaries. She'd just shrug and say, 'What's the problem, you've got nipples too. Mine are just nicer!'

Mulan looked down, unfolding her arms and scrutinising herself. For a moment Shang feared she'd caught his eye line focused on aforementioned nipples. They did look nice in purple lace, and the colour brought out the faint ivory undertones in her skin. Liè Yīng would never wear anything that flamboyant. Lingerie frightened her. And purples generally made her look ill.

'Abs need a bit of work.' Mulan grinned and winked, pressing against him as she slipped past. He felt those nipples brush against him despite his cotton shirt. Her grin seemed a little too knowing in that moment.

Shang sighed and pinched his nose. 'What am I going to do with you?'

'Cuff me to my bed and have wild, wanton, salubrious sex with me?' She breathed each word with a little thrust against his chest.

'No.'

He wasn't even curious, just dry and droll. Then again, if the day came when he said 'yes' to any of her crude propositions, Mulan would probably be dumbfounded beyond words. Maybe it would be worth saying yes, one morning, just to watch her gape like a fish out of water.

'Guess I'll settle for breakfast then.'

Shang could settle for breakfast too, if Mulan could behave herself.

He wasn't sure how likely that was going to be.


End file.
